


To The Victor Goes the Spoils

by jdmcool



Series: Political Masterminds [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Thick of It (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when Malcolm thought his day couldn't actually get much better, it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The Victor Goes the Spoils

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Episode 4.4 of The Thick of It. Less creatively sweary, more... quick rompy.

When Sam had informed him of a meeting he was more than sure he never fucking made, Malcolm couldn’t say that he was even all that bothered. He’d just managed one of the best days he’d had since they had lost power and those useless fuckwits took over everything. If Mycroft wanted to see him, so be it, Malcolm had decided when left to visit the anachronistic piece of shit.  There wasn’t a fucking thing that Mycroft could even think to say that would ruin.

So, striding into the man’s office rather than ask if Mycroft was in, Malcolm shut the door behind him only to stop short at the sight of Mycroft standing near the edge of his desk, looking far too pleased for Malcolm’s liking. He preferred the pretentious lard to show all the emotion of those inbred twats that made up the Royal Family. Part of him almost hoped that the two champagne glasses resting on near an open bottle were partly responsible for the change in his usual demeanour.

“You know, it’s not every day I get a call to your overdone office,” Malcolm said as he tried to piece together the situation.

“I figured champagne might be called for?” Mycroft offered as he began to pour the champagne.

Frowning in distaste, Malcolm shook his head. “I don’t do champagne.”

“That’s for me.” Putting the bottle back down, Mycroft grabbed a bottle of Fanta that was resting in his chair and started to pour it into the other glass with a look of disdain and shame. Holding up both glasses, he held out one to Malcolm. “The Fanta is for you. A sort of congrats.”

“I don’t think I even know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Malcolm said as he took his drink.

“You’ve been planning to get Dan in as leader for a short while and you’ve apparently done it. Not to mention the fact that Ben is gone as well and Nicola... Well...”

“You know something about Nicola I don’t?”

It didn’t actually matter that the woman had resigned, if there was something important out there that might in any way affect Dan, he needed to know. Even if it was just something as simple as the woman had broke down in a fit of tears, Malcolm still wanted to know, even if he had been counting on the latter from the start.

“You’re getting distracted by the corpses getting pulled from the accident you’ve caused. Now, a toast to your success?”

Gently toasting to the good job he had done, Malcolm watched Mycroft sip at his champagne before cautiously doing the same with his soda. “It’s not like you to take pleasure in this as well. What the fuck are you getting at?”

At that Mycroft merely smiled a bit too freely as he shrugged in what Malcolm knew to be a calculated gesture. ”While matters of this nature give me no pleasure, the fact that Ben is gone means that I don’t have to worry about someone mistakenly giving his power. The fact that Nicola is gone means one less I have to hear you complain about her and Dan, well... You’ve practically been circling about him like a bitch in heat waiting to be taken.”

“Someone feeling a bit jealous?”

“I don’t do jealousy,” Mycroft pointed out before finishing off his drink.

Doing the same, Malcolm looked Mycroft over, trying to figure out just what that walking computer was trying to get at. “So this is all just you being very nice and supportive?”

“I’d do the same for Stewart if he had the will necessary to mastermind such a scheme.”

Which was as close as Mycroft would ever come to saying that Stewart didn’t have the big, hairy bollocks to be the man that Malcolm knew himself to be, but he was willing to settle for that. The man had gotten him a fucking Fanta and had far more obvious intentions than those that Malcolm was trying to figure out.

“You trying to get into my trousers, Mycroft?”

Chuckling to himself, Mycroft shook his head as he finished off the last of his champagne. Placing his glass on his desk, he waited for Malcolm to finish his Fanta before taking his glass as well. “I don’t have to try.”

“You self-assured two-bit cunt,” Malcolm said with a small shake of his head.

Grabbing Mycroft by the tie, he kissed him hard, wasting little time with keeping things gentle or romantic. He knew why Mycroft had called him in and he was going to fucking take it before some foreign arsehat could decide to start a war, since all the domestic ones were either crying or celebrating, depending on their view of Dan.

Backing Mycroft up against his bookcase, Malcolm gripped at his hair, tugging it almost cruelly as he devoured his mouth. Mycroft tasted of champagne and chocolate, something that seemed so unapologetically him, as he kissed back just as eagerly, hands ever steady as they undid Malcolm’s jacket before moving on to his trousers. An act Malcolm was quick to imitate as he bit at Mycroft’s jaw just to see the way his eyes rolled back as he moaned. It was almost a pity that the man was so against love bite.

Digging his teeth into that faintly stubbled skin as he shoved Mycroft’s pants and trousers down around his thighs, he smirked. “How the hell are we doing this?” He asked before kissing the bite impression he’d left, not really certain if he really wanted it to fade or bruise.

“Quickly,” Mycroft said as he felt around behind him for something with one hand while he pushed Malcolm’s pants and trousers down with the other. Finally finding just what it was he'd been after, he opened the bottle of lube and poured some into his hand before passing it to Malcolm. "I have a meeting with an ambassador after this.”

“You just think of everything don’t you?” He asked, pouring some of the lube on his hand. Grabbing Mycroft’s cock a bit rougher than necessary, he began to jerk the man off quickly, pressing in closer to him as Mycroft took hold of him as well.

And Christ did the man know how to make Malcolm’s knees go weak. Kissing along Mycroft’s adam’s apple, Malcolm rocked into that firm grip, shudder running down his spine as Mycroft’s other hand grabbed at his arse, forcing him to move closer. Panting, Malcolm pressed his face against Mycroft’s cheek, as he knocked the man’s hand away from his cock. Something that Mycroft acquiesced to far too easily to not have expected it when Malcolm began to jerk them off together.

“Such an eager fucking slut Always have been,” he panted in Mycroft’s ear, loving the way he bit his lip bucked up into Malcolm’s hand.

Digging his nails into Malcolm’s arse, Mycroft let out a soft gasp, always so fucking cautious to never be heard having sex in his office, as though the place wasn’t likely soundproof. Turning his head, he muttered against Malcolm’s mouth, “It’ll be a shame when I have to drag Jamie up from the hole you left him in to be your replacement in my bed.”

“That streak of kitten jizz is too fucking short for you,” Malcolm scoffed.

Letting out a soft huff of laughter, Mycroft groaned. “You’re too short for me.”

“Cuntstain,” he said before doing his best to get them both off as quickly as possible given Mycroft’s busy schedule. It had nothing to do with him wanting watch the man come apart after that shite comment about their meagre one inch height difference.

Between his amazing day and Mycroft’s damn near sickening control of his own body, it wasn’t all that shocking that it didn’t take much more than a few rough tugs before Mycroft was slamming mouth his mouth against Malcolm’s hard enough to make his teeth rattle as he came. Careful not to make too much of a mess, Malcolm was quick to follow after, his free hand tangled in Mycroft’s hair.

Breaking apart once the need for air became a necessity, both of them started to straighten themselves up as though what they had just done was absolutely nothing. A quick wank and then back to work. For Mycroft, at least. Malcolm had every intention of going home and enjoying his success. Watching the man fix his hair with a sort of heavy heart, Malcolm rebuttoned his jacket before laughing a bit breathlessly.

“Someone’s still a bit upset with those idiots in DoSAC. I can’t wait to see what happens when I get back into power.”

“It was congratulatory, Malcolm,” Mycroft said as he finished making himself look like the stiff shirt he was meant to be.

“You wouldn’t just do that for Stewart.”

“Very true. But I’m afraid I must—“

Waving him off, Malcolm nodded as he made his way to the door. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck me and then kick me out. I know your routine, you classless piece of elephant shite.”

“Love you too,” Mycroft said fondly. “And Malcolm?”

“What?”

“If anything even close to being untoward takes place, I will have you killed,” Mycroft said, being the scary fuck that so many feared as he crowded Malcolm until he had him back against a wall. Smiling in that cold, shark like way, he said, “I’ll have you publicly flogged and then tied to a wheel and pushed down a very rocky hill before having you drawn, quartered and placing your head on a pike so that all who visit London will see it. Understood?”

Smirking, Malcolm straightened Mycroft’s tie before buttoning up the man’s jacket as he said, “Don’t you dare try winning me over with your jealous dirty talk. You want a second round, wait another eight hours.”

“You’ve been warned Tucker.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

With a quick kiss and a shove that was probably a bit harder than necessary, Malcolm smiled at Mycroft, offering up a cheeky wave before making his way out. With a history like theirs it was pretty fucking clearly why Mycroft might be a bit leery of his usual dealings, but Malcolm was willing to take the risk. Tickle was dead while the rotting corpses Nicola and Ben might as well have been buried next to him. That plus a chance at defiling Mycroft’s office? He was fucking unstoppable.


End file.
